


The Long Road Ahead

by ninawritesastory



Category: South Park
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, No actual sex will be depicted in this monstrosity, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Possibility of Dubious Consent, References to Underage Sex, Tweek's parents are awful and I'm treating it seriously, teenagers being teenagers, underage or otherwise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninawritesastory/pseuds/ninawritesastory
Summary: An accidental overdose turns South Park on its head.





	1. The Call

**Author's Note:**

> I have half a dozen assignments to finish, finals to study for, and graduation's in a week. But this idea's been nagging at me for days now and I couldn't hold it back anymore. (Blame the fact that I spent pretty much all day Friday playing through Stick of Truth for the nth time.)
> 
> And honestly, it bothers me just how abusive some of the homes in South Park are. A lot of it's kind of subtle and the sort you'd have to really look at in order to catch it, but man, there is a LOT of messed up shit going on. And the fact that the Tweaks canonically put meth in their coffee (which their 10-year-old son has been drinking like a fucking fish presumably since he was weened off breast milk) is the cinderblock that broken the camel's back for me.

_“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”_

_“It’s my boyfriend. He’s passed out and he’s not waking up.”_

_“What is your location?”_

_“2-0-2-8-8 North Water Street. We’re on the second floor, first door on the right.”_

_“What is your name?”_

_“My name’s Craig Tucker, my boyfriend is Tweek Tweak. First name has two e’s, last name has one e, one a.”_

_“Okay, stay on the line. I’ve alerted emergency services to your location. Are you hurt as well, Craig?”_

_“No, I’m fine---physically, anyway. I came over to hang out with Tweek, but I can’t get him to wake up.”_

_“Can you describe him to me? Is there any vomit, or diarrhea?”_

_“Yeah, there’s vomit. I turned him over so he doesn’t choke on it, but I don’t know how long he’s been unconscious. Fuck, what if he’s already choked?”_

_“Is he still breathing?”_

_“Barely. His pulse is really weird, too. It’s like, jumping all over the place. Is there anything I can do about that?”_

_“You’ve already done plenty, Craig. It was a smart thing to do, turning him on his side. Are there any other symptoms you can see?”_

_“He’s covered in sweat and he’s twitching a little. I mean, he twitches a lot normally, but this isn’t normal.”_

_“How so?”_

_“Because he’s fucking unconscious and covered in vomit!”_

_“Try to calm down, Craig. Does Tweek have a nervous disorder?”_

_“Yeah. He twitches a lot and sometimes has these muscle spasms that fuck with his voice and all sorts of shit. He’s on medication for it, but I don’t think it’s doing anything. He drinks coffee like its water, and I think all that caffeine makes the meds not work.”_

_“That is a possibility, yes. Now, I need to ask a question and I need you to remain calm and think as rationally as possible. As far as you know, does Tweek have a history of drug abuse?”_

_“What? No! I mean, I guess caffeine’s a drug, but he’s not shooting up with heroin or something bullshit like that. He doesn’t even smoke pot. Why the fuck would you even ask that bullshit?”_

_“It’s just a question. We need to know as much about Tweek as we can in order to get him the help he needs. Does he have any diagnosed case of epilepsy?”_

_“No, none. He’s never passed out or seized like that before. My cousin’s got epilepsy, and Tweek’s never shown any signs like what she has.”_

_“Okay. Is there anything else you can tell me?”_

_“...Actually, now that I think about it, there might be something to that drug thing. One time he told him he had to get a package from some people who are renting at a friend of ours’. It’s pretty fucking sketchy. Shit, have Tweek’s parents been fucking drugging him?!”_


	2. Check the Damages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to do some more research before publishing this, but convincing police officers, ER doctors, and CPS officials to spare half an hour to answer ridiculously specific questions is more time consuming than I thought and doing no favors for my anxiety. I may just bite the bullet and rely solely on internet research. 
> 
> Anyway, I've made you guys wait long enough and I finally got this monster of a chapter to a place where I could comfortably end it. I hope you guys enjoy!

Craig hated hospitals. They smelled like disinfectant and death and the fewer encounters Craig had with them, the better. But for the first time in his life, Craig had no intentions of leaving the hospital. Not until his boyfriend was stable and awake and Craig could take him home. Not to the Tweaks, not when he was suspicious about what exacted landed Tweek in a fucking _drug overdose_. He’d been to Tweek’s house numerous times in the past; he’d seen in inside of their fridge. Apparently if it wasn’t coffee, the Tweaks didn’t know it existed. There was never much in the way of other beverages: the milk was in those small half-gallon jugs and marked for cooking, there were never any juices of any kind---not even fucking _orange juice_ \---and Craig was fairly certain Tweek didn’t drink much water, either. They’d been trying to up his water intake, with varying levels of success.

Tweek usually powered through at least two to three large thermoses of coffee a day, sometimes even going through four to five full thermoses. How many ounces were in his thermos? What was the drug-to-coffee ratio? Did Tweek know about the drugs? No, no, Craig dismissed that immediately. Tweek had freaked out enough during those stupid DARE campaign sessions they all had to sit through as kids. He’d obsessed over the damage drugs could do to a body, but he’d still downed way more coffee than any kid had any right to drink. Tweek would’ve freaked out even worse if he knew there were drugs in his coffee.

He paced in the hallway, refusing to leave the doors where the doctors and nurses had rushed Tweek into emergency care. Tweek had been dying, had gotten really fucking close to actually __being dead__ , and that left Craig’s nerves completely shot. But Tweek was going to make it. He was going to pull through, and everything was going to be fine. They’d fix this together. In between the pacing, Craig looked up facts and stats about drug addiction and what getting off the drugs would entail. Not that he could find much that was too helpful; he didn’t know exactly what drug Tweek had ingested. The most likely culprit was probably meth; South Park’s drug scene was kind of varied, but weed and meth were two of the biggest ones. He started looking up stuff about meth and its affects.

And honestly? It explained way too much.

Craig’s stomach dropped and squirmed as he read through list after list of symptoms, through numerous articles detailing the ins and out of meth addiction. Tweek had been upping his coffee intake over the years; when they were ten, a thermos was usually enough to see him through a day. Maybe a thermos and a half, depending on the day’s events. If the coffee was laced with meth, then Tweek’s increased consumption was probably a result of his growing tolerance for the drug. How much meth was Tweek drinking daily? How many grams? Apparently it only took five grams or more to overdose on the shit, and for Tweek to actually overdose on drugged coffee…

Craig was going to fucking kill Tweek’s parents the next time he saw them.

“Excuse me, young man, can I help you?”

The brunet tore his gaze from his phone and looked up to see a doctor in those mint-green scrubs that always made him think of vomit for whatever fucking reason.

“My boyfriend’s in the ER. Drug overdose,” Craig replied. “I’m not leaving until I know he’s okay. Actually, I’m not leaving until he can.”

“That’s not quite how it works,” the doctor informed him, a knowing smile on his face. “There are a lot of factors that will impact when he can be discharged. How long has your boyfriend been using?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even think __he__  knows,” Craig admitted, grabbing at his hat with one hand. “He’s not a drug addict. Drugs scare the piss out of him; you know those old DARE campaigns? He’d spend hours researching and obsessing over how different drugs impact the body. It took me months to get him to calm down. Whatever he’s on, he didn’t take it knowingly.”

The smile on the doctor’s face slipped away. “If he’s been using without his knowledge or consent, that’s a whole different bushel of apples. Law enforcement’s going to have to get involved. Either way, your boyfriend is probably going to have to go through a rehab program.”

“I could help him with that,” Craig protested. “As soon as I know what drug he’s on, I can do research and---”

“Kid, it’s not that simple,” the doctor cut in. “Drug addiction is a difficult thing to overcome. Your boyfriend is going to need professional help, somewhere where his opportunities to get more of his fix are severely limited. I know you want to help him, but a rehab facility is probably going to be his best chance at recovery.”

Craig’s eyes stung, a sudden influx of tears born from frustration. What the fuck kind of boyfriend was he? How the fuck hadn’t he noticed something sketchy was going on? Why hadn’t he been more insistent that Tweek get himself off the fucking caffeine? Why the fuck had he been so fucking useless the __one__  time it really fucking mattered?

“He’s not gonna like that,” the brunet managed, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Tweek hates strangers. It’ll stress him out.”

“Sometimes recovery isn’t comfortable,” the doctor offered. “Actually, recovery can be really painful and difficult. He’s going to need a lot of love and support from you, and his friends and family.”

“I’m getting pretty sure his parents are the reason for all this bullshit,” Craig muttered, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “They run a coffee shop, and they’ve been making Tweek drink that shit like it’s fucking water for years. They practically pour it down his throat. He’s the shortest guy in our grade because of all the caffeine. I’m nearly a foot taller than him now, and when we were ten, I only had a few inches on him.”

The doors Tweek had been whisked away behind opened, and an ER doctor stepped into the hallway. She was only a little taller than Tweek, with dark skin and black hair cropped short and kept unnaturally straight. She wore those light-blue, almost aqua-colored scrubs that felt as devoid of any personality or warmth as the rest of the building.

“You’re the kid who rode along in the ambulance, right,” the ER doctor asked. “With Mr. Tweak?”

“Yeah, I’m his boyfriend,” Craig replied, practically launching himself off the wall. “Is Tweek okay?”

“He’s stable for now,” she informed him. “However, I’m afraid he’s currently in a coma. There’s a great deal of damage to his internal organs which indicates long term and heavy abuse. Do you know what drugs your boyfriend was on?”

“Nothing,” Craig insisted. “Drugs scare the shit out of him; the only drug he’s ever taken knowingly is the caffeine in all of the coffee he drinks. Whatever he O.D’ed on, he didn’t know he was taking it, I swear.”

“Son, it’s okay,” the ER doctor said, an effort to get him to calm down. “You don’t have to be afraid about arrest or charges right now; all we want is to make sure Tweek recovers.”

“That’s all I want, too! But I’m telling you the truth: Tweek’s not a druggie! He doesn’t even smoke pot.”

The ER doctor---Melinda Gray, according to her I.D. badge---gave him what could almost be construed as a pitying look before exchanging looks with the other doctor.

“Have the nurses’ station get the police on the line,” Dr. Gray ordered, her voice soft. “And contact the parents. They should know their son’s in a coma.”

“Don’t call them,” Craig pleaded. “I know they’re the ones behind this.”

“These are serious allegations,” Dr. Gray warned. “You could be putting a family through a lot more turmoil than they’re already facing.”

“Look, Tweek’s been my boyfriend since we were ten years old. I __know__  him. And I’ve seen the way his family treats him; I don’t think it’s an unfounded accusation.”

Dr. Gray took a deep breath. “Get the police on the line,” she ordered the other doctor again. “We’ll hold off on contacting the parents until the police have been alerted.”

“Can I…can I see him,” Craig asked, not sure if he’d be shot down. Most crime dramas and similar shows depicted hospital rooms often being limited to family only in cases like this.

“Visitation rights at this point are usually restricted to family,” Dr. Gray began, “but considering the allegations and the duration of your relationship with Tweek, I’m willing to make an exception. Just this once. I’ll warn you, you may not like what you see. He’s stable, but there’s a lot of internal damage. Once his last dose filters out of his system, Tweek is going to enter withdrawal. Whether or not he wakes up is up to him, so he’s going to have to be heavily monitored for the time being.”

“Are comas common? With drug overdoses?”

“Depends on the drug, the duration of use, and the person in question,” Dr. Gray replied, leading him into Tweek’s room. “In Tweek’s case, I’d wager he’s been using for at least ten to twelve years, which would put his first hit between the ages of two and five. The police were going to have to be called regardless; no kid that young gets their hands on illegal drugs unless something illegal is going on in their environment.”

“Is he gonna be okay?”

Dr. Gray paused before answering, offering him a set of scrubs. “Put these on; we’re trying to keep the room as sterile as possible. As for his chances, at the moment it’s not good. Stage three renal failure---dangerously close to stage four---stage C heart failure, extensive damage to the blood vessels, particularly in the brain, and significant damage to roughly a third of his liver. He’s in a coma for a reason, and I’d personally like to keep him in one for as long as possible to give his body a better chance of recovering. The good news is, most of the damage can be fixed or treated in some way. Depending on how he responds to the drips, Tweek may recover. I wouldn’t say his odds are good, but they’re fair.”

She pulled back the curtain, revealing Tweek’s unconscious body. They had him on a breathing apparatus. Tweek was hooked up to at least a dozen different machines, not that Craig knew all that much about the ins and outs of life-support units, but he could recognize the fact the doctors thought Tweek’s body wasn’t capable of keeping him alive at the moment.

“Fucking hell,” Craig breathed.

“His age is a benefit,” Dr. Gray added. “Younger bodies tend to bounce back a bit easier, but it’s still going to take a long time. He’s got a long road ahead of him, and he’s going to need people he trust at his side.”

“I understand,” Craig recited, a disconnect between his mind and his body making him feel off balance.

Tweek wasn’t a tall guy, and he wasn’t exactly buff, but Tweek didn’t look like a fifteen-year-old lying in that bed. Part of Craig’s mind superimposed ten-year-old Tweek onto him, just because of how fucking __tiny__  Tweek looked, surrounded by all the machines working to keep him alive.

“I’ll have one of the nurses come get you when the police arrive,” Dr. Gray informed him as he took a seat by his boyfriend’s side. “They’re going to want a statement. Do you have anything you can use to back up your claim?”

“Tweek’s thermos is still at my house,” Craig replied, still feeling numb. “He left it there a couple of days ago. And his room is full of coffee mugs from all the shit he drinks. I think there’s a bag of one of his family’s blends in my house---shit, my parents, I have to let them know not to drink that shit---”

“Wait until the police get here,” she suggested. “Tell them what you’ve told me and Dr. MacGregor. They’ll let you know what to do next. If anything changes in Tweek’s condition, press that green button to your left. That will notify us and we’ll come right in.”

“Okay,” he agreed, slowly slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Dr. Gray left the room, and Craig returned his attention to Tweek. Ten to twelve years of meth addiction, and no one had noticed a fucking thing. How the hell had no one noticed? They’d all just written Tweek off as a mentally disturbed kid, cute only by virtue of his relationship with Craig. And the Tweaks had seemed to do everything in their power to make sure no one took Tweek seriously, or thought about him much beyond ‘that twitchy, paranoid, delusional kid’. It was a trap even Craig fell into sometimes; he’d been working on that, on being more supportive of Tweek’s claims and beliefs and the way his mind worked. But how much of that was actually Tweek and how much was influenced by the meth?

“I’m so sorry, Tweek,” Craig murmured, eyes stinging as tears started to form. “I should’ve tried harder to get you off the coffee, or __something__. You don’t deserve any of this bullshit.”

How many opportunities had he missed? How many warning signs that he could’ve seen if he’d only been paying attention? Tweek never looked or acted like someone on meth---not overtly, like the methheads Kenny’s parents rented their garage to. Sure, Tweek got cavities maybe more frequently than other kids, but most of them had chalked it up to Tweek practically growing up in a coffeehouse. All that acid and the sugar from the pastries his parents sold. Any kid would have cavities. And so what if he got sick a little more often? Some kids just had shit immune systems; it didn’t mean anything. Tweek looked healthy enough, despite how skinny he’d gotten and the muscle spasms and the obvious signs of insomnia.

Everything could be written off as something else. Logically, Craig knew it was stupid to beat himself up over it. How the fuck was he to know Tweek’s parents were apparently lacing their fucking coffee with fucking meth? Tweek didn’t like talking about the coffeehouse. It stressed him out and triggered his anxiety and increased the likelihood of panic attacks. The coffeehouse was a topic best avoided in favor of healthier ones. Like taking care of Stripe. Or what sort of date they wanted to go on next. Or maybe experimenting and fooling around a little.

That thought made Craig’s stomach drop as it registered. Almost all of those articles had listed an increased sex drive among the symptoms and consequences of meth use. Had Tweek actually __wanted__  to do any of that shit? Or had that been the meth pushing him? Tweek was always horny after a couple of thermoses. Craig had been careful not to let things go too far---mainly because he didn’t feel ready to go all the way---but they’d been blowing each other and giving hand jobs ever since Craig had his first wet dream. It never went beyond heavy petting, but there had been times when Craig had been sorely tempted and Tweek had been more than willing. It wasn’t like they’d be the only teenagers having sex; Kenny McCormick had banged half the girls at school and rumor had it he’d banged more than a few guys, too. Stan and Wendy wavered between tearing each other’s clothes off and being ‘good kids’; Clyde had been caught twice trying to get lucky with the Raisins girls; fuck, even __Cartman__  had gotten laid since high school started.

The only reason they hadn’t given in was Craig…well, he kind of had a slightly old-fashioned view of sex. It was stupid, logically, since virginity was a bullshit concept to begin with and first times were therefore about as meaningful as someone’s first time eating a taco, but Craig couldn’t help but want their first time as a couple to be special. Not just some hormone driven frantic fucking in an effort to get off. It was stupid, and Craig had been red from embarrassment the first time he told Tweek about why he didn’t want to go any further, but Tweek had just smiled at him and told him it was kind of sweet. And that had been that. When Craig said no, Tweek was always willing to stop.

Maybe the meth wasn’t entirely to blame?

“Good thing PC Principal isn’t in charge of the high school,” Craig muttered, a humorless laugh escaping him as the thought cropping up suddenly. “He’d lose it if he knew we were fooling around while you were being drugged. I definitely do __not__  want to have sit through another lecture about affirmative consent.”

It was the sort of stupid joke Tweek would practically piss himself laughing over, and the deafening silence that replaced it left Craig’s ears ringing.

A knock at the door, and Craig looked up to see a pair of what were probably policemen. They weren’t in uniform, just wearing business casual attire, but they flashed their badges as the entered the room.

“Craig Tucker, right?”

The brunet nodded.

“I’m Detective Jacob Arnoul and this is my partner, Detective Hector Barba. Mind if we ask you a few questions?”

Craig shook his head. “It’s okay. The doctor said you would. It’s fine.”

“Mind if we take a seat,” Detective Barba asked, already pulling up a chair.

“Go ahead,” Craig replied. “It’s not like I can really stop you.”

“Still nice to ask,” Detective Barba replied with a slightly strained smile as he took a seat. His partner did the same.

“Okay, then,” Detective Arnoul began. “You mind if I call you Craig?”

“It’s my name.”

Tweek was between them, still silent and unconscious and Craig focused on every rise and fall of the blond’s chest.

“Now, why don’t you walk us through what happened tonight?”

He took a deep breath.

“I went over to Tweek’s house around five or so---he’d had a play rehearsal after school today, so we didn’t walk home together like we normally do. We were going to watch the new __Star Trek: Discovery__  episode, since we had to miss it when it premiered on Sunday. His parents weren’t home, but that’s not weird; they spend pretty much all of their time at the coffeehouse.”

“And what’s the name of the coffeehouse?”

“Tweak Bros, with one ‘e’ and one ‘a’.”

Barba jotted it down.

“Anyway, I went upstairs to Tweek’s room, and I found him passed out and twitching in a pool of his own vomit. I was fucking terrified he was dead or dying or some shit like that; I rolled him onto his side immediately so he didn’t choke, and then I called 9-1-1. They had me on the phone for maybe ten or fifteen minutes while we waited for an ambulance.”

“Have his parents been contacted?”

“I hope not,” Craig shot off. “I’m pretty much positive they’re the reason Tweek overdosed.

“Yeah, Dr. Gray mentioned you leveled a pretty heavy accusation on his parents,” Arnoul pointed out. “Wanna run us through how you came to that conclusion?”

“Look, Tweek’s been my boyfriend since we were ten. Ask anyone in South Park: we spend pretty much every free second with each other,” Craig started. “Tweek doesn’t do drugs. Those old DARE campaigns had him terrified, and it took my months to calm him down. He won’t even smoke weed, even now that it’s legal. He hates the caffeine, too, and we’ve tried to get him off the coffee I don’t even know how many times. But each time, we failed. Tweek would always get sick. Like, __really__  fucking sick. Vomiting, shaking, migraines bad enough to keep him out of school, the works. We just thought it was the caffeine, that it’d been fucking with his system long enough that he literally couldn’t live without it.”

He sighed, resting his elbows on Tweek’s bed and taking hold of Tweek’s hand.

“But I looked it up. What Tweek went through? None of that was consistent with just caffeine withdrawal. I had no idea what to look for, so we decided to give up. Just…accept that Tweek would have to spend the rest of his life reliant on coffee and only hit five-four, if he was lucky. I hated it, but the alternative was seeing Tweek so sick I was afraid he’d die.”

“How long has Tweek been drinking coffee?”

“His parents have baby pictures where Tweek’s bottle is full of coffee instead of milk,” Craig deadpanned. “Their fridge never has anything else to drink: no milk, no juice, nothing. Tweek drinks two to three sixty-four ounce thermoses of coffee a _ _day__. That’s about….thirty-two six ounce cups a day. And that’s way up from when we were kids. It used to be one thermos a day did it for him, but he kept needing more and more. And it’s all straight black coffee, no milk or sugar or creamer. Just coffee. His parents claim it calms him down, but coffee’s a stimulant---it doesn’t calm shit, and I __know__  it’s messing with Tweek’s meds.”

“What meds?”

“Anti-psychotics,” Craig admitted. “And stuff for ADHD. His parents don’t deal with shit, they just drag him to a doctor and get him put on another pill.”

“That may be bad parenting, but it’s not technically illegal,” Barba pointed out. “And how do this led to drugs in the coffee?”

“It’s…it’s not just Tweek,” Craig finally relented. “I keep hearing people talk about how shitty his parents’ coffee is, but how they just can’t stop drinking it. And I know his parents get these weird ‘deliveries’ from some methheads who live near a friend of ours.”

“So you think Tweek’s parents are lacing the coffee they sell with meth,” Arnoul asked. “And giving the same laced coffee to their son?”

“Yeah, it’s the only plausible solution I can think of that makes all the pieces fit,” Craig replied. “Why everyone in South Park can’t stop drinking coffee they claim is shit, all of Tweek’s health problems, the sketchy deliveries…Look, maybe it’s not meth, but something not legal is going on, and Tweek’s in a fucking coma because of it. I should’ve fucking said something sooner, but I didn’t put the pieces together.”

“You’re what, fifteen,” Barba asked, continuing when Craig nodded. “Which means while this has been going on, you’ve been a kid. Kids aren’t supposed to be paying attention to the drug scenes of their hometowns. They should be out catching Pokemon and eating Poptarts.”

“But if I’d thought about it at all, none of this would’ve fucking happened.”

Barba and Arnoul exchanged looks. “You’re still a kid, Craig. Don’t beat yourself up about this,” Barba warned gently. “You’re talking now, and that’s what matters. Now, is there anything else you think we should know?”

“My parents have a bag of one of the Tweaks’ blends,” Craig offered. “And Tweek left one of his thermoses at my house a couple days ago; I think it’s still got some coffee in it. Could you guys test it or something? At least let me know if I’m going crazy?”

“I think we can do that,” Barba agreed. “If you want to give us your address and contact your parents, we can pick it up on our way back to the station. Anything else?”

“If the coffee tests positive, if Tweek’s tests come back positive,” Craig began, carefully thinking over his words. “do you know what’s gonna happen to him?”

“Well, most of the laws focus on possession and distribution,” Arnoul offered. “If what you’re saying is true, and Tweek had no idea he was ingesting meth, he probably won’t face any jail time. Rehab, definitely, but not jail time. His parents, on the other hand, they could be looking at anywhere from one to five years, possibly more depending on the investigation goes.”

“If they go to prison, what happens to Tweek?”

“Unless he has family willing to take him in, he’s probably going to end up in foster care,” Barba replied.

“Could my family take him in, or one of our friends?”

“If their parents want to, then they can apply and go before a judge to get it signed off,” Barba answered with a nod. “CPS doesn’t usually want to uproot the kid too much if they can help it. But a lot’s gonna depend on how the investigation goes, if this case goes to trial or not, and if Tweek’s able to testify.”

“But he had no clue he was being drugged!”

“We don’t know that definitively,” Arnoul reminded him. “But for now, Tweek’s going to have to stay right where he is. Unless his parents pull him out.”

“He’s in a coma,” Craig cried. “The doctor said like half his organs are wrecked. If they take him out of the hospital, he’ll die!”

“Unfortunately, parents tend to have the final say when the kid is under eighteen,” Arnoul admitted, clearly uncomfortable. “For the time being, he’s good to go. If the coffee tests positive for meth, the courts can take him out of his parents’ care and into the state’s, or another willing guardian.”

“How long is the testing gonna take?”

“A couple of weeks,” Barba said, and Craig rubbed his temples.

“So, in the two or so weeks it’ll take to verify this shit, Tweek’s parents can pull him off life support, effectively killing him, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop them? How the fuck is that fair?”

“Unless you can find loopholes in the law, there aren’t many options,” Barba replied. “We’ll expedite the samples, see if we can’t speed things up, but the world can only move so fast.”

“A bunch of bullshit.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” Barba agreed, pulling out a business card. “Here’s my contact info. If there’s anything you can think of to help us out, give me a call. Or if you need help.”

“If the coffee tests positive, it’s going to get messy, isn’t it?”

“Drug cases are always messy. It isn’t any better when there are kids involved.”

Craig looked back at Tweek, still unmoving save for the machines pumping air in and out of his lungs. If Tweek’s parents managed to get him off life support, Tweek would die and the case would loose a key witness. But there wasn’t any guarantee that Tweek would be able to testify anyway, so if they did that, Tweek would probably die for nothing. He set his jaw. There had to be away around this, a way to make sure Tweek stayed in the hospital where he could get the care he needed to survive.

“I’ll call my parents and tell them you’ll be swinging by the house. Is there any particular way you want me to phrase it?”

“Don’t mention the drugs,” Arnoul decided. “We don’t want to spark mass hysteria. Just say we’re dropping by and they can ask us any questions they have.”

“Okay,” Craig agreed, pulling out his phone and bringing up his dad’s phone number.

This wasn’t going to be the only phone call he made tonight.  


End file.
